marvinstwin: (Default)
Do you ever feel, when looking at your life, that you add two and two and end up with something in the vicinity of sixty five?

I think that sort-of explains how I'm feeling right now. I feel like I can't make decisions and I can't work and I can't fucking think because I don't trust my judgment. I've forgotten how to count and I don't know how or when that happened.

I still haven't talked to two very important people about the whole 'going home' thing. *sighs* I don't fucking know what to say to them. Well, that's not entirely true. "I love you and I'm going to miss you and I wish I could take you with me," is generally how I want to end the conversation. Unfortunately, I have a lot of other things to say first, and I'm notoriously awful when it comes to dealing with those sorts of serious discussions.

I wish I could just send a mass Bcc e-mail as Lori described. Only, that really wouldn't solve anything, now would it? I want to give these people some serious hugs and a real explanation and my address so we can mail things back and forth (huzzah for being in the general vicinity of a post office again!). We also owe each other food and, seeing as I just about have my stomach back to normal, I'd like to settle those debts before I go.

Big Brother mine, how is/was Barcelona? Did you ogle any seductive Spaniards? I've heard good things about the local fauna, please tell me my sources haven't lied! Also, any good food? I can think about food again! I want to hear about it! *hugs* Talk to you soon.

*sighs* Papa flies in today. I think I'm having sympathetic flight insomnia. If I had a life, I'm pretty sure I'd hate it.

And now for some news on the entertainment front:

1. Ang Lee's "Lust, Caution." Ouch. Ouch to the nth degree. This film is gorgeous. The costumes and sets are stunning and the lighting is dim but appropriately evocative. The very explicit sex scenes are, by turns, violent, creative, and disturbing. It's the sort of film where you sit there trying to analyze the characters' motivations afterward. Would you have done what the characters did, were you in their situation? You rather hope not, and yet it all made some sort of fucked-up sense. Whatever. This film hurts like a piece of glass through the aorta. If you ever feel the need to be traumatized in a really artistic sort of way, this is a good one. It's also nice if you enjoy vintage oriental fashions and textiles, which I do.

2. Traveling Wilburys aka George Harrison, Jeff Lynne, Bob Dylan, Tom Petty, and Roy Orbison. I haven't heard their music since the last time mum and I air guitared our way through the Concert for George. Gabe Saporta's cousin is right, they are utterly ridiculous, and yet rather amazingly amazing. They are also the only way I can tolerate Bob Dylan and Roy Orbison singing, much less attempting to harmonize. I think that having to endure endless repetitions of the Roy Orbison special on PBS has ruined my enjoyment of his solo music for life. I can't even stand covers. Anyway, yes. I ♥ Traveling Wilburys. The end. Oh, and Jenny Lewis does a pretty good cover of the song "Handle With Care". So, if you're a Jenny Lewis fan *cough[livejournal.com profile] honeynutchexmixcough*, go have a listen.

3. The Libertines. I'm a huge fan of Yeti, so, on a whim, I decided to check out John Hassall's old band. Heh. Little did I know that I would find a gaggle of pretty, chemically-altered boys and one of the most explosive friendships in recent music history. Think Brideshead with no gentility, half the guilt, twice the alcohol, quadruple the drugs, and a liberal splash of rock n' roll. Why had I never given them a listen before this? They're sort of punk and sort of indie and really just lots of fun. Great music to put on when you're getting ready for an evening out or feeling the need to just be a dork and bounce around your room.

4. My mum likes The White Stripes... I'm not sure what to make of this. I mean, I also like them to a certain extent, but... wow. Weird.

4. Ruckus is gone and I have to actually buy music like a normal person again. Rats. I'm really going to miss having an internet-based lending library for all things musical. I'm pretty sure my wallet's going to miss it, too.

5. If anybody knows where I can lay my hands on an mp3 of "I Played The Part," I will give them a veritable feast of strange and exotic sexual favors involving glow in the dark paint in exchange for the information.
marvinstwin: (Default)
I have food poisoning. Dear God, what next? The plague? I haven't eaten anything of substance in over 24 hours and the thought of trying sort of makes me queasy again.

I've spent the last two nights on the couch, just so that I can be closer to the porcelain goddess of my idolatry. I have to do laundry and pack. I feel like curling up and dying instead.

Why me?
marvinstwin: (Default)
I feel like I should write something about the trip to Italy other than "OMGITALYGABYCYNTHIAMYBRAINOMGPRINGLES!!!!!!!!!!!!!11!!!!!!!!!!!!!1!!!," but I can't really verbalize how much fun I had seeing two of my favorite people EVER in the history of EVER and exploring a foreign country with them. Suffice it to say that despite illnesses and crazy people and having our crowd virginity thoroughly sullied in the Piazza Majore on New Year's, I had a jolly good time and I hope that my partners in crime did too. *hugs them both to bits*

As for what's going on in the real world... I don't even know.

My car died in a shower of sparks and a puff of smoke. Fun? (Don't worry, it's mostly fixed now.)

My apartment building got sold to apparent slum lords three days before Christmas. Funner?

Lizzie has thoroughly invaded the only place in my Father's house I could even begin to claim as my own, leaving me with no refuge amidst the family's collective crazy. Funnerer?

My birthday dinner was the single most traumatic holiday experience of my life between the sudden appearance of the Crack Lady at the restaurant, Lizzie critiquing my clothes, Cheryl gloating over being with papa in a truly sickening way, Richard saying things that were wildly inappropriate and make me want to slap him silly, and the revelation that Papa proposed to Cheryl while chaperoning my Winter Ball dinner all those years ago.(1) Absolute fucking funnest.

You guys, I'm pretty determined to have a good 2009. I'm trying really hard not to overreact to any of these things and smile at the irony of it all. But seriously? If this keeps up I'm flying to Tahiti while the flying is fair and never coming back.

I need to schedule appointments with the nice young people in clean white coats. Hopefully they'll figure out a way to make this mess work. I'll no longer live at the side of the ups and downs, but if I can get through this semester intact that might be a fair price to pay.

Alright, I'm off to buy books. Ta, lads and ladies. I miss you all.




(1) I'm not sure I'll ever forgive Papa for actually marrying her. I don't really like Cheryl. I think Richard is a twit. The only part of that house that I can be in for more than an hour is my room and I don't even have that now. Oh, and if I hear one more bit of twee happy-families, "this feels so right" bollocks from Cheryl ever again, I swear I'm going to puke.
marvinstwin: (Default)
Good News: It's not likely that I have the flu.

Bad News: It is very likely that I have the mono. We don't know for sure yet (I can't get tested until Monday) but the signs, from muscle aches to fatigue to sore throat to nodes the size of casaba melons, point to YES. As I told Gaby, if I really do have the mono, I didn't even get a steady boyfriend to take care of me and bring me soup as my consolation prize. I think this means I am allowed to hate my life.

I spent most of today asleep, and I don't feel any better for it. I can't wait until Thanksgiving Break. I want to go home.
marvinstwin: (Default)
And if this is a coronation, I ain't feelin' the love.

I think I'm going to have to withdraw from my statistics class. I'm an emotional wreck right now and I'm falling behind in everything. As that's the hardest class (and the one I'm the most behind in) with the most immediate midterm, I feel that's the one that must go. I'm still not prepared for costuming class today nor TCS nor the Econ quiz tomorrow. I have two papers that I need to write whose due dates are quickly whipping around the bend, and two shows to work on, and I don't know what else I can do.

I don't care. That's the problem. I don't fucking care and maybe living on my own is a bad idea because there's nothing and nobody to make me even try anymore.

And before you ask, yes, I am going to SHS and waiting until they will see me.

It's probably a good thing that my self-destructive tendencies have chosen to manifest themselves academically and not in any of the myriad of other ways open to them... well, I still have the eating disorder (it's still there, nibbling at the back of my mind) but it seems to have taken a back seat this semester in favor of academic suicide.

I think I'm trying to systematically liquidate everything that I've prided myself on over the years. Were things really that bad before? When did I turn in to that kind of person? I don't know. I just want it to stop.

I spent all day yesterday trying to stop myself from crying. I'm nervous. I'm choked up. I'm so utterly, hopelessly behind in everything. How did I let this happen to myself?

Why am I writing this and not studying?

I thought I fixed all this by changing majors. Lies. Lies. Lies. Why do I still feel this way?

I've clearly drifted into the arena of the unwell. I feel I've gone on holiday by mistake. Thanksgiving break and the actual life-oriented thinking I will do during that time cannot come soon enough.

ETA: Also, this journal is going public again. I'm not a private person. When I don't have everything out in the open something is wrong. Playing a role is different from concealing your true self. Don't ever confuse the two.
marvinstwin: (Default)
So, I think I'm sick. Like, really sick. Like, 'depressed and need to go see a shrink again' sick. I'm upset. About a lot of things, I guess. I don't know quite how to put them all in words. Suffice it to say that I'm upset about "Of Thee I Sing", the boy, two friends who are not doing so well (one physically and one emotionally), my major, the fact that I still have no work ethic, my living situation, and a bad haircut.

Hugs? Can I get one? Please?
marvinstwin: (Default)
I know, I know. It's on the list of things Third Lieutenant Archie Kennedy of His Majesty's Navy Is No Longer Allowed To Do. I know that. But, God damn it, I've earned the right to dance ridiculously.

THE SHOW IS DONE. STRIKE IS DONE. THE SHOW CLOSED TODAY. OMG I AM SO RELIEVED.

Everything went well, you guys! It was fabulous! People went to see the show and loved it! It got a glowing review on the local radio station! My martyrdom was not in vain!

But the best part is that I can finally get my life back. I get to actually spend tonight doing homework instead of sleeping off a stress headache. I AM SO EXCITED. *does The Happy Dance(tm)*

\o/ \o/ \o/ \o/ \o/ \o/ \o/ \o/ \o/ \o/ \o/ \o/ *\o/*

Bwee!
marvinstwin: (Default)
So, I've decided that it's universal: straight boys annoy the unholy fuck out of me. Even the ones I like get on my nerves. I'm really starting to think that if there was a bright, heterosexual center to the universe, I'd be on the planet that is farthest from. Yes, that is a Star Wars reference. Yes, I am that big of a dork. Don't judge me. Don't look at me in that tone of voice. You make those references, too.

*sighs* I think I'm just hormonal. I really need to find some way to fix that. It's getting unhealthy. Back on the pill? Yeah. Yeah, that would probably be a good idea. I was on an even emotional keel when I was on the pill. I was functional. I miss that. A lot.

One of these days I'm going to break down and let them give me anti-depressants. I don't want them to do it. I love the hilarious highs and I occasionally need the lachrymose lows. I just hate those 1.5 weeks per month where I'm an absolute mess for no reason at all. It's highly unfortunate.

And, really, I'm fine with things where they are. When the estrogen finally leaves my system, I'll go back to being OK with this. I like this whole getting-to-know-each other thing. It's nice. There's no pressure. I just wish my girly bits would remember to think at the margin. Stupid things.

I want to take Latin dance lessons next through U-College next semester, anybody want to be my partner? Anyone? Bueler.

Anyway, the show closes on Sunday and Maryse and I are celebrating the return of our social lives with baked goods and a viewing of Velvet Goldmine. Its time we both went back to our roots and contemplated the heavenly virtues, chief among them being Ewan McGregor in shiny silver pants. ♥

Are you dead, Big Brother? Please don't be dead. I need you. Who else is going to mock my Batman comic and terrorize my cats? I'm going to be annoying like Pete Wentz and spam your inbox until you respond. Just so you know.

ETA: I've realized what it is about choreographers that makes me, as a costume designer, so unhappy. Choreographers are hopelessly vague. Descriptions of their pieces involve a plethora of phrases such as "kind of" and "it's sort of like_________, but not really." The only things they're sure of are the things they don't want, and those are usually the things that you think would make the piece look its best. *cough*maryjeanandherinsistencethatthispieceisnotperiod*cough* Whatever.
marvinstwin: (Default)
I think that sums it up pretty well, really. This week has been pure, unadulterated crap. I love working on shows, I do. What I do not like is working on them ALL DAY LONG because there is just that much work to do. And, to be honest with you, I probably wouldn't mind that either, if I didn't have so much homework on top of it all.

I have, in fact, done the absolute minimum of homework this past... week and a half? Fuck. This show is so utterly ridiculous. Putting on a production of this scale is more work than is technically feasible in our tiny, understaffed shop. And, of course, because I'm managing wardrobe for the show I have to go do everyone's laundry in a few hours, which is stupid because I haven't even done my own and I barely have any clothing left.

Cynthia, I miss you. I know you're not a theatre nerd, but you've been there. You get it. You've seen me during Hell week. You've been the Best Big Brother Ever(tm) and bought me coffee and taken me out for Red Robin and a movie when I can no longer deal. I miss you. I miss you so fucking much because all I want right now is a hug and some coffee and some time spent talking about boy!touching and how much missing the Rock Band Tour blows and I'm not going to get it without you here.

I'm so disconnected. I realized that this is the first show EVER where I haven't had my support network with me to help me deal with the stress. This is going to sound terribly emo, but nobody gets it here. Nobody understands how exhausting working on a show is. Nobody understands that I take this shit pretty fucking seriously and that even when I hate the cast and the crew and the director and myself, I still feel the need to pull a Nicholas Cage, do a good job, and make it the best fucking production of whatever crap it is that you have ever seen.

The cast is good. With the exception of a particularly bitchy 13 year old, they're all good people. They're respectful. They mind me and everyone else. It's so much better than at the Academy... but it's also very much worse. I don't know any of these people other than Maryse and Kate. And I only know Rob on crew. There's nobody to snark and snerk and generally dick around with between scenes. I don't know everybody enough to give them hugs and to out to IHOP and generally kvetch about what crazy shit this show involves.

I guess... I just don't feel like this show is, in any way, mine. I mean, yes, I worked on the costumes. I made all of that ridiculously awful striped fabric. I tried to make the seriously terrible pattern someone made work for Catherine's atrocious bathing suit. I just... I miss doing everything. I liked working at the Academy because I had creative control. I got to both design and make the costumes: pluck them from the ether and make them a reality. I liked doing that. That's why I'm switching my major to costume design. I want to get better at doing that. I want to take the ideas swirling around in my head and do something with them. I want the blissful euphoria of making the show's world come together with fabric and notions and things that sparkle under the stage lights.

This show has felt like absolute drudgery.

They spelled my name wrong in the program.

The costume designer thinks I'm stupid. Bitch, please. I know more about period clothing than she does. She has no right to lecture me and patronize me like I'm some sort of fashion virgin.

And the fucktards who keep bringing food for the actors to eat while in costume (which they aren't supposed to be doing) and don't do a damn thing for the crew, who don't get to eat food ever because WE'RE THERE ALL FUCKING DAY LONG? Fuck you. Don't make my job harder. I already want to shoot someone. You're moving up the list.

Grrr.

*sighs* That was a lot of navel gazing. I'm sorry. I've just been bottling this crap up for a while and I needed to let it out before I exploded all over the place and got stains on the walls.

Right now, I want a hug. A snuggle. A snug? And, to paraphrase our favorite version of Brian, a coffee as big as my head.

Damn. Off to the shop. See you on the flipside.
marvinstwin: (Default)
No, really. My ears are ringing. They have been doing so all day. Statistics was Hell. SHS wasn't much better, only that little excursion had the added bonus of needles and an EKG. Oh, and a fabled appointment with a cardiologist. Apparently there might be something seriously wrong with me. Who knew?

My initial discussion with the nurse practitioner went something like this:

Aidan: So, my ears are ringing, I'm tired, and I'm dizzy.
Nurse: *looks in ears* Your ears are fine. Lift your shirt.
Aidan: Okay?
Nurse: *listens to heart* *listens to heart again* *presses really fucking hard with the stethoscope* Has anyone ever told you that your heart clicks?
Aidan: o.0 NO?!
Nurse: Well, like I said, your ears are fine. You're probably just a little stuffed-up. You shouldn't worry about that at all. The clicking on the other hand... Will you excuse me for a moment? I'll be right back. *leaves*
Aidan: WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCKING FUCK?!

So, apparently my heart clicks? What did that mean? I didn't know. She didn't actually tell me, even after she came back, presumably from trying to find someone to give a second opinion. The nurse did get rather worried, though when I quoted Withnail while talking about the 'perpetual cold'. Well, she didn't know it was a quote at the time, but when I mentioned that I can't ever seem to get warm she started asking about the family history of heart problems, ordered an EKG, scheduled an appointment with a cardiologist for some unknown date in the future, and told me I was to go to the lab to get some blood work done.

Needless to say, when I got out of the doctor's office, I called my parents and went straight home. Upon close inspection of my referral sheet I discovered that clicking apparently indicates a heart murmur? The pediatrician thought I had one of those when I was a kid. Only, I went to see a cardiologist back then and was told it was nothing, the doctors were hearing things. *sighs* I don't know. My EKG apparently looked a little funny this time.

Have I mentioned that I hate SHS lately? Because I do. I know they try, but they fail like the failbus that arrived fifteen minutes late AGAIN this morning, and then make me pay actual money for their stupidity. *sighs* Can I go home, now? I'm sick of St. Louis. I miss the desert and my mommy and my fucking car so that I can get the fuck out of here and drown my woes in glitter and earrings at the mall. I also miss my Big Brother, because right now I could use a hug and some quality time with our CSI collection. Instead I'm stuck here with my stupid apartment and the stupid rain and this stupid, fucking PERPETUAL COLD.

On the bright side, my new haircut looks nice? I think the stylist gave me accidental emo fringe. Oops? Whatever. I like it. It looks super sexy with button down shirts and suspenders. And, when the fringe grows out, it will look even better. Win!

ETA; So, apparently my Econ teacher was sick today anyway and canceled class. Good to know. The universe has better timing than I thought.
marvinstwin: (Default)
So, I've finally put together my costume for the "P" themed party tomorrow night. I'm pretty sure that what I am about to inflict on the unsuspecting public can be classified as both a sin and a tragedy. I wanted to go as a Punk-Rock Pinup Girl ala Johanna Angel, only I think I took a wrong turn along the way and ended up with something a little closer to Pete Wentz, Vag Edition. The Homophobia Is Gay tiara I got for my birthday last year is the crowning glory (haha) of this lolarious nightmare of an outfit. I'm not sure, but chances are that violates the TOS agreement. I told you I'd be so scene it would hurt... I just didn't believe I'd pull it off quite as successfully as I did.

Oops?

See you on the flipside.

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marvinstwin

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